Time in a Bottle
by hellomynameisv
Summary: Life without Linda is unbearably hard. How was he supposed to help Jack and Sean through it if he couldn't even help himself?


**So, I literally just discovered (don't know why I didn't earlier) the amazingness of Jim Croce and his song, "Time in a Bottle," and I just had to write a fic with it. Enjoy!**

**Update (7/3/20): I just realized songfics aren't allowed, so I just erased all the lyrics. Listen to the song while you read this, if you want.**

* * *

Danny looked down at his wife's gravestone. He wished she were still here (doesn't everyone).

He just felt helpless with everything. Out of all the things that put their family in danger, it wasn't his job, but _hers_. Well, actually, it had been kind of his fault, since he had just learned that Delgado had somehow sabotaged the helicopter. That didn't make him guilty _at all_.

He looked up at the sky, wondering if she blamed him at all for her death.

It had been so unexpected. One day, he had gone to work, kissing her goodbye while she wore her scrubs, ready for her next shift at the hospital. And then, a few hours later, he got the call that she had been in an accident. He had, almost literally, broken right inside the precinct.

He hadn't known how long he had sat there until Baez brought him home, the rest of his family already there, including his kids, crying even more than him.

And he guessed that image was what knocked him into action. His kids were crying; they didn't need to see him crying. He needed to be strong for them...but he didn't know how.

That was why he was at Linda's gravestone. To try and figure out how.

She had always known what to say, always the comforting one. Without her, how would his family function? Sure, they'd survive, but they wouldn't heal. He didn't know how to help them, or himself, for that matter.

He touched his face and found them wet with tears.

She had been taken away too soon. Too soon because her kids were still young, still innocent to an extent. Too soon because he hadn't been able to tell her that he loved her that day, the day she died.

It was supposed to have been a _normal_ day. How had everything gone wrong?

He was lost without her. She had always been his rock, the one who grounded him after one of those bad days, when you didn't feel like doing anything but going to bed, when you couldn't save the last victim or when the case had seriously struck a nerve.

She had always been there for him...until now.

He couldn't blame her for that, could he? It was his fault, after all. And now he was stuck here without her, trying not to drown and leave Jack and Sean behind too. If he was barely keeping it together, how could they? Especially because he wasn't helping them, at all.

How could he keep them all together?

He didn't get any answer.

He walked home a while later, carefully schooling his expression just outside the door so as to seem strong for Jack and Sean. He needed them to be okay, if not him.

But when he got inside, he got a surprise.

They had made dinner, for _him_. That wasn't supposed to happen. That...he was the responsible adult here, he was the parent here, he was supposed to take care of _them_, not the other way around. He had failed them, apparently.

He sat down at the table anyways, and after everyone had sat down at their respective places, Jack started. "We...know you've been down. And you've been trying to hide it from us; don't deny it, we've noticed. We just wanted to do something for you, after everything you've done for us, I guess." He looked down at his plate.

Sean added, "Yeah, I might've been mad at you earlier...for not being the parent I needed. But I realized that you weren't Mom, you were never Mom. She might've been our mom, but she was your wife too. We're all grieving. And like what Mom told you when Uncle Joe died...we should all grieve together. Right?"

Danny looked at both of them, both of his sons. And he remembered. Remembered all those days they had spent together with Linda, every single moment. Remembered that she had made him vulnerable in the best possible way, taught him how to accept help when he needed it. Even if that help came from his sons.

So he smiled, for the first time in a long time, and said, "That's right. Your mom was very good at giving pep talks."

And maybe they'd go on existing, but they'd live, too.


End file.
